


Different

by mitsukyu



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukyu/pseuds/mitsukyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mino told himself that it was the same thing as fighting. This was the enemy. He was in control. He was winning. (He wasn't winning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> Fic for this week's 100 minutes for songkang.  
> Prompt: battle

It was unfair, Mino thought. Almost holding his breath not to make any noise. Seungyoon was the enemy. Sure, the war was long and complicated and convoluted enough, but he couldn't change that. Seungyoon was the enemy.  

What gave him the right to sneak into Mino's bed at night, just a whisper of fabric as he lifted the sheets and crawled inbetween them. Kissing Mino's neck and rubbing against him. Warm and languid and torturously slow. His pretty mouth sucking marks on Mino's skin. 

Some nights, when Mino had more self-control, when he managed to hold on to his anger, he would flip them over and wrap his hands around Seungyoon's neck and _squeeze_. But Seungyoon would look up at him with pretty fox eyes wide and shiny red lips. His legs fell open for Mino quite willingly. 

Even on the best of nights, Mino's self-control was never that great. 

So he fucked him. Slid his hands up his tighs, pressing fingers into tight heat that was already slick. He squirmed back against him, greedy to be fucked. Mino lifted his head to look at Seungyoon, eyebrows raised and Seungyoon smirked, though he was already breathing hard. _I always come prepared. Don't expect any less from me._  

Only they never spoke. The others were too close. Hands on his tighs, fingers pressing dimples into his flesh, he pulled Seungyoon down onto his cock, pushing into him fast enough that Seungyoon bit his lips until the bled to keep quiet. 

He fucked him slower, slow enough, precise enough, not to make any noise. Seungyoon's breathing in his ear was harsh and fast. He pressed his mouth to Mino's skin to muffle it. He clutched at his arms with slender fingers, nails digging into the skin. 

Mino told himself that it was the same thing as fighting. This was the enemy. He was in control. He was winning. 

He wasn't winning. He'd lost control long ago, to the smile in Seungyoon's eyes and the soft warm promise of his body. The enemy had walked into their fortress bold as brass and Mino'd welcomed him with teeth and tongue and mouth and body. 

They were devious, he'd been told. Long ago and far away. They could move like ghosts, through the place you called home. It was all a trick, they'd explained. A special kind of warfare. Tricks and technology. Like holograms, do you understand, and Mino had nodded. Long ago and far away. 

Holograms. He thought of Seungyoon's pretty fox eyes. It wasn't really Seungyoon doing the touching, was what they meant. It wasn't really Seungyoon who would feel a stab of soft emotion when he'd lock eyes with Mino over the barrels of guns. No flash of recognition. Mino shouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger, they'd told him, because Seungyoon certainly wouldn't. 

(The enemy would not, is what they'd said, but for Mino the enemy only had one face and he saw it in his dreams.) 

Technology and tricks. Mino didn't know about all that, all of their panicky lectures on the dangers of. After all his training, he found it more likely, by far, that they were sneaky. Sneaky enough to get into the Space Station, to step lightly through its corridors and sidestep security measures like living, breathing ghosts. Still living. Still breathing. All careful limbs and precise, elegant movements. (Like Seungyoon arching up underneath him. Perfectly.) 

He found it more likely than holograms leaving bruises on his skin, perfect little half moons that in the morning spelled out _it wasn't a dream_. 

 

Still. 

 

There is no softness now, no warmth in the dark. Seungyoon's jaw is set. He meets Mino's eyes, head tilted back in challenge. Not a glimmer of recognition as the world burns around them. 

Mino shoots first. Like he's been taught. Maybe a millisecond before Seungyoon could pull the trigger. 

He aims for the hand, though, not the heart. Seungyoon's laser gun drops from his gloved fingers, red hot and melting. 

Seungyoon stares at him with empty hands, head still tilted back. But his suit, though hardwearing and tough, fits him like a glove and he looks too small. His eyes have widened in surprise or fear, and there it is — a hint of softness. Mino's finger cramps, millimeters away from the trigger. 

Seungyoon raises his hands in surrender. Mino sighs in relief. He relaxes his grip infinitesmally. 

Foxes are tricksters. 

Seungyoon barrels into him. He's heavier than he looks and he manages to push them both to the ground. Mino is still reeling when Seungyoon lands the first punch, slamming his fist into Mino's face. Mino kicks him in the stomach in return and Seungyoon stumbles back, gasping. Mino rushes forward to keep him down. Seungyoon struggles against him, kicking and hitting and biting. 

Fighting is kind of like fucking, Mino thinks, and despite the punches he's hard in his pants. 

Seungyoon gets a grip on his arm and they're grappling, desperately, for the gun Mino's still holding.  

 _Shoot them first or they will shoot you._  

He doesn't want to kill Seungyoon. 

He doesn't want to die. Doesn't want to look into Seungyoon's pretty fox eyes and have the last thing he feels be betrayal. 

He uses his last reserves of strength to rear up and push Seungyoon face first into the floor, knee on his back. He catches hold of his wrists, twists them behind his back. Holds them tight and he can almost imagine he can feel his heart beat under his fingers, a desperate flutter. 

He raises the gun and throws it as far away as he can. It skitters across the floor in the distance a dozen, two dozen people locked into fights of their own between them and it now. Seungyoon laughs in disbelief. 

"What are you going to do now?" he asks. Mino likes his voice. It sounds sweet, warm, even muffled as it is, cheek pressed into the floor. 

Mino doesn't know. He hasn't planned this far ahead. But he knows a gun he has no intention of using can only hurt him. 

The fighting continues all around them. Screams and blasts whistling in his ears. He has to duck out of a line of fire more than once. 

He should push Seungyoon over to one of his teammates. No longer his problem. He should knock him out and walk away. Leap up to help his screaming friends. 

He leans in instead. 

"How do you always get in here at night?" he hisses. 

Seungyoon is silent for a moment, so perfectly still beneath him that Mino feels his chest tighten in fear of the answer. 

"The jumpers. Cloaked shuttles," he chokes out finally. Something in Mino's chest expands. 

"Right," he says, hoisting Seungyoon up, fingers tight around his wrists. 

"What? Are we running away together?" Seungyoon asks, craning around to give him a look of disbelief. 

The Station burns around them. Heat and acrid smoke. 

"Might as well," Mino says. Can you desert if there's nothing left to desert, he wonders. Alarms are blaring everywhere. 

They make it through the smoke and the fire and the fighters. His teammates and his enemies. 

Someone tries to stop them, once, halfway down an empty corridor on their way farther down and down, all the way down to the jumpers. It's okay. 

Foxes are tricksters. 

Seungyoon has a second gun. 


End file.
